


Book Club Angel

by theinsandoutsofcastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinsandoutsofcastiel/pseuds/theinsandoutsofcastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OH MY GOD YOU SAID YES. *calms down* I kinda want the reader and Metatron to meet at like a book club or a library or something and they bond over their shared love of pop culture, reading, and writing. They go out on a couple dates and it’s all fluffy and smutty in the end. This means a lot omg thank you so much</p>
            </blockquote>





	Book Club Angel

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Y/F/B stands for your favorite book
> 
> Y/F/M stands for your favorite meal
> 
> I’m not the biggest Metatron fan, but I tried … I hope this is ok!

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, wing!kink

Fic:

You sit at the information desk of the library you work at, thumbing through the pages of Y/F/B. Today had been rather quiet and you’d found some time to read.

A soft click of shoes tells you that someone is approaching. You shut your book and look up to find a man leaning against the counter, a smile crosses his lips as his eyes meet yours.

“Hello sir, how may I help you?” you ask.

“Sir is a little formal don’t you think, Y/N?” he asks, leaning in to read your name tag, “You can call me Met.” He holds his hand out and you shake it.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, “So, what can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for a book,” Met says.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” you tell him, “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“I am actually,” he responds, “I was looking for Y/F/B and the computer says you have it on the shelf, but when I looked, I couldn’t find it.”

“Oh, sorry about that,” you say, “I grabbed the last copy and didn’t bother to check it out. You can take it if you want it.” You hold the book out to him, but he shakes his head.

“I don’t want to steal it from you if you’re halfway through it,” Met says.

“No, really, it’s fine,” you tell him, “I’ve read it a thousand times.”

“Maybe you could recommend something instead,” he suggests. You rattle off a list of a few of your favorite books and he’s read them all.

“I’m not sure if you’d even be interested, but would you like to join a book club?” you ask, “We read a lot of books like the one’s I recommended.”

“Sounds interesting,” Met says, “When is it?”

“We meet every Friday from six to seven, sometimes longer depending on the conversation, in the lobby around the corner,” you answer, “This week we’re reading the first half of Y/F/B, which is why I stole it from the shelf. You’re obviously not obligated to come if you don’t want to, but I just thought I’d ask.”

“I’ll be there,” Met tells you.

“Really?” you ask before handing him your copy of Y/F/B, “I’ll see you there.” You couldn’t help but be excited for Friday.

***

When Friday rolls around, you find yourself watching the clock, waiting for the little hand to hit six. You greet the members of the club as they come through the door, but to your dismay none of them were Met. Just when you’re about to give up, he touches your shoulder, making you jump.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he laughs.

“I didn’t think you’d show,” you say.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” he responds. You give him a smile before leading him to the lobby. After introducing him to the group, you begin discussing the book. Met fits right in, making comments alongside everyone else. Most of his comments are right in line with yours and you’re glad you invited him.

“Are you hungry?” he asks when the meeting is over. Other people start milling out of the library, leaving you alone with Met.

“I could eat,” you tell him.

“Let me take you to dinner,” he says and you agree. You grab your coat and wrap it around you before you begin walking towards the nearest diner. Met walks beside you, thanking you for inviting him to the meeting.

“I’m glad you liked it,” you tell him, “You should keep going, I think you’d enjoy it.”

“I think I will,” Met says, “Are you always there or do you skip meetings?”

“I’m normally there,” you say, “Since I work there already it’s not hard to show up.”

“I know you like books, but what about movies?” he asks.

“You don’t realize what you’ve just started,” you joke; Met laughs. The rest of the way to the diner is spent talking about your favorite movies, all of which he’s seen. By the time you’ve ordered, you move on to TV shows. Apparently, he’s seen every TV show ever aired.

“How do you have time to read all of these books and watch all of these movies and TV shows?” you ask.

“I multitask,” he answers, shrugging.

“So, you know what I do for a living,” you say, “What do you do?”

“I’m a writer,” he answers.

“A writer!” you say, “What do you write?”

“A little of this and a little of that,” he responds, “Sometimes I just transcribe things, other times I create my own original stories.”

“That sounds amazing,” you say, “I’d love to be a writer. I try, but I’m not so great at it so I wound up babysitting books rather than writing them.”

“That’s an important job too,” Met tells you, “If I ever published a book, I’d feel better knowing you were the one watching out for it; protecting it from coffee stains and being dog eared.”

“Well I’m glad you think so,” you laugh.

The rest of dinner is spent talking about all your favorite and least favorite things. Met agrees with you on most things, but when he doesn’t he respects your opinion. After dinner, he walks you back to your home, keeping close to you as you walk down the dimly lit streets.

“Well, this is me,” you say, stopping in front of your door. You weren’t sure if you should invite him in or not. “I had fun, thank you for dinner,” you tell him, trying to gage his feelings towards you.

“Me too,” he responds, “We should do this again sometime.”

“Next Friday?” you suggest.

“I was thinking sooner than that,” Met says, “What about Monday, say five o'clock? Dinner and a movie? I can pick you up here.”

“I’d love that,” you tell him.

“I’ll see you then,” he says, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

***

You’d been on several dates since that first night. On your third date, he told you that Met was short for Metatron. When you teased him for being named after an angel, he tried to convince you that he was an angel. The only evidence he offered was to cook you a meal which you had to consider heavenly.

Tonight you had another date with him and you decided it was your turn to cook. You decide to cook one of your favorite meals, hoping that Met would enjoy it too. Standing by the stove you stir the ingredients, impatiently waiting for the timer to go off. A knock on the door interrupts you and you begin to panic. You run to the door to let Met in.

“Hey, come in, make yourself at home,” you tell him, “I’m not quite done yet.” He laughs at the state you’re in and closes the door for you as you run back to the stove.

“I brought you some flowers,” he says as you hear the rustle of paper hitting the table. His arms slip around your waist as he moves to stand behind you. “What are you making?” he asks, his lips meeting the spot where your neck meets your shoulder.

“Y/F/M,” you respond. You pick up a small bit of food on the end of a spoon and hold it out for Met to try. “Taste this,” you request, “Let me know if it needs anything.” Met takes the food from the spoon and hums.

“That’s delicious,” he compliments, making you smile. You plate the meal and quickly find some water for the flowers before sitting down at the table across from Met. He asks you how your day was before telling you about his.

The more you get to know him, the more he opens up. He tells you about his family and how his father had left him and his siblings. His mother never really seemed to be in the picture, but he tells you mostly about his brothers and sisters.

As he tells you more about himself, you begin to feel comfortable with telling him about your family and your past. For some reason, he was easy to talk to, unlike many people you knew. Something about him made you feel at ease.

“Thank you for dinner,” he says when the meal is over, “I owe you.”

“It’s no trouble,” you tell him as you place the dishes in the dishwasher, “Do you want to stay and watch a movie?”

“Absolutely,” he responds. You lead him to your living room and wave for him to sit on the couch.

“What do you want to watch?” you ask as you begin listing off all the movies you owned. He finally decides on a movie, which happened to be one of your favorites. You put the movie into the DVD player before plopping down onto the couch next to him.

As the movie begins playing, Met slips an arm around your shoulders. You snuggle in closer to him and lean your head against his shoulder. You’re not exactly sure how it happens, but you wind up straddling his lap, your lips pressed against his. The movie is a distant sound somewhere in the background.

His hands slide around to your back, pressing you close to him as your tongue slides against his bottom lip. He grants you access and you slip your tongue into his mouth, sliding your tongue against his. You shift your hips, trying to get more comfortable and you feel his hardened length presses against your thigh.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean …” he says, pulling away.

“Don’t be sorry,” you cut him off. You press your lips to his again as you thread your fingers through his curly hair. Met hums as you rock your hips against his.

“Wait,” he says, pushing you back.

“Do you want me to stop?” you ask.

“No, God no,” he says, “But there’s something you need to know before we go any farther.”

“You’re not a murderer or anything are you?” you ask, only half joking.

“Remember how I told you I was an angel?” he questions, “Well I wasn’t lying.”

“Right,” you say, though you knew he was trying to mess with you.

“I’m serious,” he says, “Close your eyes. There’s something I need to show you.”

“Ok …” you say, a little reluctantly. You weren’t sure what was happening, but you decide to play along. The rustle of clothing sounds as he pulls his shirt over his head and you can’t help but smirk. Your smirk quickly fades as a bright light shines through your eyelids. “What are you doing?” you ask as the light begins to fade.

“Open your eyes,” he tells you and you comply. You gasp as you open your eyes, large white wings wrapped round you.

“You’re … how did you …” you find yourself unable to finish a sentence. You reach a hand out tentatively before pulling it back. Met smiles at you.

“I told you I was an angel, you just didn’t want to believe me,” he chuckles.

“This is crazy,” you whisper, amazed by the sight before you.

“It’s a little unorthodox, I’ll admit,” he says, watching the way you’re reacting, “Does it scare you?”

“A little,” you admit, “You’re an angel, why are you here with me?”

“I like you,” he says simply.

“But I’m just a human,” you retort, “I’m not special or important.”

“You are to me,” Met tells you. His fingers hook under your chin and bring your gaze to his. “I love you,” he confesses, “It doesn’t matter that you’re a human and I’m an angel. I care about you more than I’ve ever cared about anything during my whole existence.”

“I love you too Met,” you whisper. Met smiles before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours passionately. His wings shift and hold you closer to him, the soft feathers caressing your skin. One of your hands slips from his hair and moves down to the ridge of his wing before you run the back of your hand along his feathers. Met groans and you pull your hand away from him, afraid you’d hurt him.

“Don’t stop,” he tells you, “It feels good, really good.” You place the palm of your hand against one of the longer feathers before tracing your fingers along the vane. Met hums before tugging at the hem of your shirt. You pull your hands from him and break the kiss just long enough to pull the shirt over your head.

Met tosses the shirt behind him before his fingers work at the hook of your bra. His fingers trace lines down your arms as he pulls the bra straps down your arms. One of his hands presses against your lower back as the other cups your breast in his hand. You moan and arch your back into his touch as he rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger.

His lips pepper your shoulder and neck with kisses before he moves to suck your neglected nipple between his lips. You slide the fingers of each of your hands between his feathers and tug gently. Met groans loudly as his fingertips press into your skin. His hips buck up, pressing his hardened length against your core. Your head tips back as his hand and lips work at your breast. You grind your hips down on him, seeking friction, moaning as you find it.

“We should take this somewhere else,” Met mumbles against your skin.

“Bedroom,” you respond. Met flaps his wings, and in the blink of an eye, you find yourself on your bed, straddling his lap. He flips you over so that your back hits the sheets and he settles above you, his wings flared out behind him. “Please,” you whisper, tugging on his feathers. He hums and waves his hand, your clothes are gone in an instant. The cold air hits your damp folds, letting you realize just how wet you are.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks, “We can stop if you want, I know this is a lot to take in.”

“I’m sure,” you answer, “I want you.” His eyes stay on yours as he kisses his way from your chest up to your lips, his wings curling around him to caress your sides.

“I want you too,” he mumbles against your lips. You wrap a leg around his waist and pull him down, encouraging him to enter you. He chuckles as he places his forearm next to your head for support and lines himself up with your entrance. His hand holds your hip and his lips press against yours as he thrusts into you, stretching and filling you with one stroke.

“Metatron,” you sigh as he fills you to the hilt. He smiles against your lips when he hears you say his name.

“I like that,” he tells you, “I want you to say my name, my full name.” You nod and part your lips to respond but he stops you by pulling completely out of you and thrusting back in. You moan his name as he sheaths himself inside you again. He thrusts slowly, watching you writhe beneath him. “Y/N,” he moans, “You feel so good.” He groans as you tug his feathers, his thrusts faltering and falling into a faster rhythm.

You wrap your arms around him, your fingers finding the soft, downy feathers at the spot where his wings meet his back. Met grunts as you pull on the sensitive feathers. His fingers press into your hip, holding you against the bed as he thrusts into you, filling you again and again.

His name falls from your lips like a prayer as the knot coils in your stomach. Your back arches off the bed, pressing your front to his as he draws you closer and closer to climax. “Y/N,” he groans, his thrusts becoming erratic. His lips meet your neck and he sucks the skin hard enough to leave a light mark.

“Metatron,” you moan trying to hold on for as long as you can.

“Go ahead,” he tells you, “I want you to cum for me.” His words push you over the edge and the knot in your stomach breaks. Your walls clamp down around him as his cock pulses, spilling himself inside you. His lips meet yours, kissing you sloppily as you help each other ride out your highs.

He collapses above you, staying there for a moment before pulling himself from you and lying by your side. You turn to face him and his hand traces down your side before pulling you closer. You reach up and caress his cheek before leaning in to kiss him. One of his wings drapes over your body, keeping you warm despite the cool air filling the room.

“Am I going to Hell?” you ask.

“Why would you even ask that?” he chuckles.

“I just had sex with a divine being,” you answer, “That has to be a sin.”

“Maybe,” Met says, “But I won’t let you go to Hell. I’m your guardian angel and I’ll never let anything happen to you.” You snuggle into him as he pulls you flush against him.

“I love you Metatron,” you whisper.

“I love you too Y/N,” he whispers back, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.


End file.
